Chapter Text
It was raining, the day Camilo and Mirabel Madrigal were born.
Pepa insists it wasn’t her, but Bruno doesn’t believe her. She had been nervous and agitated the entire time, praying for a safe delivery. Not that he minds, no, no - he didn’t even notice the thunderstorm outside, gripping his lover’s hand tightly as Julieta helped deliver the children. His son first, his daughter only moments later. Holding them had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. Camilo and Mirabel, Mirabel and Camilo. Twins, Alma’s pride and joy, the future of the family Madrigal, but most importantly, his children.
He loves them dearly.
He had loved his lover as well, he thinks. And when Julieta stepped back, face sad and sympathetic, he had nearly dropped to his knees. His lover’s hand felt like marble in his. The day was one full of celebration, but sorrow was intertwined as well. Maria had been a wonderful girl, and it had been fun while it lasted. Although Bruno thinks he would miss her more as his best friend than as a future wife.
Alma says that she can see him in them both. Felix cracks a joke about his nose, leaving Bruno frowning fondly. Isabela and Dolores approach, eyes wide, as they peer at the sleeping faces of their new cousins. Luisa clutches their hands tightly, nearly jumping trying to reach them. The scene brings a smile to Bruno’s face, especially when Isabela (attempts) to pick up her younger sister. The three Madrigal grandchildren are as sweet as can be. He’s sure Camilo and Mirabel will be the same.
Pepa won’t stop crying; a thundercloud follows her all day. Agustin tries to hold them both, insisting he can do it just fine. Nobody is surprised when he trips, and Julieta catches both children, smiling softly when they begin to giggle. Bruno has never loved his sister more. Dolores listens to them, reporting their every action to the family dutifully. Isabela decorates the cribs with blooming flowers. Alma hangs a picture of Bruno, mouth wide open in panic as Mirabel bursts into tears in his arms - as well as one of Camilo yanking on his father’s hair - up in her room, hand remaining fondly on her son’s face for a moment extra. A funeral is held for Maria. Bruno cries. For him, and the partner he lost, but also for his children, and the mother they will miss. Julieta promises they won’t be without a mother figure. Pepa nods in agreement. His children smile up at him, a pair of suns in the darkness. The ache in his heart begins to mend, bit by bit.
Bruno really, really loves his family.
・・・
“-and Luisa’s gift, too! I wanna be able to lift up donkeys like she can!” Camilo’s excited voice drifts into the hallway. Bruno pauses, standing just outside the door to the nursery. There’s a plate of warm arepas in his hands cooling by the second, but his children are four years old and so, so close to getting their gifts. He can’t help but listen.
“I hope mine is something useful.” Mirabel says softly. “I just want to help Abuela and Papa and everyone support the village. I want to make our family proud.”
Bruno’s breath catches in his throat. Slowly, he steps back, peering between the crack into the room. Mirabel sits on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest. Her glasses jostle slightly with every movement - combined with her messy hair, her vision is nearly obscured. Camilo sits beside her, legs dangling off the edge of the bed and swinging constantly. His hair looks just like his sister’s, messy and curly and falling into his eyes. Bruno watches, a fond feeling in his heart, as Camilo reaches over, planting his hands firmly on Mirabel’s shoulders.
“Mira, Mira.” He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t really believe that, do you? No matter what gift you get, you’ll always be useful to the family. You’ll always help Papa do whatever he needs to do, and you’ll always help Abuela communicate with Casita. Just being here is already useful.” He grins. “It’s you and me, Mira. Together forever. Got it?”
Mirabel giggles, jumping forwards and pulling her brother into a hug. “Always. Thanks, Camilo. You’re the best.”
Well. It looks like his children are doing just fine without him. With a brand-new smile on his face and rejuvenated motivation, he continues on towards the kitchen. Mirabel and Camilo really are the lights of his life. No matter what happens, no matter how the future plays out, he’ll always have his children, his wonderful, wonderful children.
Well.
Maybe he should just check. Just to be sure.
It can’t hurt, can it?
・・・
Bruno wishes he’d never gotten a stupid gift.
If he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have been able to see this- this- this awful thing he’s seen. This horrible, painful image. The worst image he’s ever seen. He hates his gift. Hates, hates, hates it. Stupid, useless, painful. Good for nothing. All it shows him are horrible pictures like this, of his daughter’s door disappearing and his son’s smile fading and the house crumbling, his son trapped in the middle of it and his daughter the very cause of it all.
Alma will come asking. Bruno knows she will. His children’s gift ceremony will take place, and it’ll all go horribly wrong, and Alma will come to him. He can’t let her see this. Can’t let her know the truth, or Mirabel - his sweet, sweet Mirabel - will be crushed by the weight of her expectations. Maybe worse. Her life will be even harder than his was. She’ll be ostracized, excluded. He won’t let Alma do that to his beautiful girl.
There’s only one thing he can do about this. The very thought of it breaks his heart, but he doesn’t know what else to do. The gift ceremony is tomorrow night. He’s running out of time.
The prophecy crashes to the floor, shattering into pieces. His room is empty, completely bare, save the beautiful, hand-drawn pictures from Camilo and Mirabel - made for his birthday, with painstaking effort, the talent four-year olds wield, and lots of love. He rips them off the wall, tossing them quickly into a backpack. He can’t bear to part from them. After all, when tomorrow comes, they will be all he has left of his children.
The Casita is dead silent. Every family member is asleep - he just hopes Dolores doesn’t hear any of this. Bruno makes his way to the Nursery, watching his children sleep through the thin crack. They look so peaceful, so beautiful. His heart thuds painfully in his chest.
A single tear makes its way down his cheek. “I’m sorry, my beautiful children. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I won’t be there to watch you grow up. I love you so, so much, Camilo, Mirabella. I hope you will be able to forgive me, one day. I hope I’ll be able to see you again.” The words are barely a whisper. Neither child even stirs.
A bird caws in the distance. He doesn’t have much time left.
He has to go.
・・・
“Tia Julieta!” Mirabel’s voice rings out across the courtyard. Julieta stands up, turning around in surprise. Her niece runs towards her, accompanied by her nephew. They look more alike than ever, dressed in matching white, halos of curls framing their worried faces.
“What is it, Mirabel, Camilo?” She smiles sweetly. “Excited for your ceremony tonight? If you’d like, I could-”
“We can’t find Papa anywhere!” Camilo bursts out, frowning angrily. “He said he would be here, he said he would take us to the river this morning, but he isn’t here! We went to his room, but we got too tired to climb up all the stairs, but he- he- he isn’t here!”
Julieta’s heart drops out of her chest.
“I’m sure Bruno is just… around here, somewhere.” She says with a nervous chuckle. “Say, why don’t you two go over to Isabela? I’m sure she'll be happy to make you both flower crowns to commemorate such a special day. When I find Bruno, I’ll be sure to let you both know.”
Camilo frowns again, opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but Mirabel snatches up his hand and shoots Julieta a dazzling smile. “Thank you very much, Tia Julieta!”
She smiles, but it’s strained. “Any time…” Camilo lets himself get dragged over by Mirabel. Isabela waves them over, not a single imperfection visible. She’s decorating the walls with Dolores, who has a confused expression - Julieta doesn’t doubt she was eavesdropping.
Well, she doesn’t have time to deal with the children right now. She needs to find Agustin, and Alma, and Pepa and Felix. One of them must know where Bruno is. He can’t be missing. Not today, of all days. It would shatter his children’s hearts.
He’s probably just… out thinking, or something. Julieta’s sure. He’ll turn up.
He has to.
・・・
The celebration is bigger than any in the past. After all, there’s not just one, but two Madrigal children receiving their gift today. Two new additions to the family, two new supports for the community. It’s a joyous day. It’s a prosperous day.
…well. It would be, if Camilo and Mirabel would simply listen and do their part. At the moment, though, that’s looking unlikely.
Tio Bruno is missing. There’s no doubt about it. Nobody’s seen him since last night, and there’s nothing left in his room. Camilo and Mirabel have been freaking out since the morning. Now that they both know their father won’t be here for their gift ceremony, they’re throwing tantrums and refusing to do it. Isabela wishes they would just get over themselves and do it already.
She remembers her own ceremony, seven years ago. She had been the first grandchild to do hers. Her gift was beautiful, special, the epitome of perfection. Abuela’s eyes had been so full of love, then. Isabela had been so naive. So young, so innocent, so sure that things would stay the way they always were.
But life is harder than it looks, and Isabela has to put on a mask in order to please Abuela. Only twelve years old, but she already knows she has to hide her flaws and showcase her skills in order to be enough. If she has to grin and bear it, then Camilo and Mirabel should, too. Dolores and Luisa follow the rules, suffer the pressure, just like her, just like a perfect child. Just because Tio Bruno isn’t here shouldn’t be an excuse to melt like the twins are.
Gritting her teeth, she tries to calm the anger inside her. Tio Bruno is ruining everything, in her opinion. He’s always been a bit… strange, but this is a new level. Abuela is getting angry. It’s only a matter of time before she steps in and forces Camilo to walk out there and open his door.
Isabela only wants to give him a little push.
“Camilo, Mirabel!” She says, voice full of cheer as she approaches her cousins. Camilo stops his screaming for a moment, Mirabel wiping her tears beneath her glasses as they turn to face her. She can feel Dolores’ inquisitive gaze on her back, but she ignores it. “Would you mind following me? I have something to tell you both.”
Isabela doesn’t spend a lot of time with her youngest cousins. She’s not surprised when they stay silent, following her down the hall and into the nursery.
“What is it, Isabela?” Mirabel asks, eyes comically big behind her round glasses. Camilo’s expression is more sullen beside her, but she can see the curiosity in his expression.
“Oh, I just wanted to let you know… it really doesn’t matter whether Tio Bruno is here for your ceremony.”
Their heads both snap up in surprise.
“What? Of course it does!” Camilo says angrily. “If Papa isn’t here, then-”
Isabela rolls her eyes. “Wow, you two really haven’t caught on yet? He’s gone, and he isn’t coming back. All this weird protest you’re doing is getting Abuela mad. Sooner or later, you’re going to do your gift ceremony, willingly or not. This isn’t just some choice you can make. Tio Bruno is gone, which honestly is for the best - he’s kinda crazy. I’m sure Abuela’s happy about this.” She smiles sweetly at her cousins. “So? What’ll it be? Keep protesting, or do the goddamn gift ceremony and get it over with?”
She has no idea if Tio Bruno is coming back. She has no idea if any of what she’s saying is true. She doesn’t really want Tio Bruno to be gone forever - he was really good at braiding hair - but if it’ll get Camilo to his door, she’ll say it. She doesn’t care if she’s a villain in their eyes. She’s a princess to so many, it’ll be honestly quite refreshing.
What she didn’t expect was for them both to start crying.
Looking back, she probably should have. After all, she just told two five-year-olds their father was gone forever, and they have no mother, to top it all off. Mirabel’s crying is soft, quiet, like she’s trying to stifle it. Her glasses fall to the floor, and she bends down to pick them up, hiccuping slightly. Isabela is almost impressed. She gets the feeling she’ll be able to handle the Madrigal pressure just fine.
Camilo’s crying is… much, much louder. He lets out wail after wail, sobs choking up his throat. Tears stain his sleeves, and Mirabel’s shoulder, once he turns and buries his face into it. She wraps an arm around him. They stay like that for a few moments. Isabela shifts awkwardly. She doesn’t really know what to do. Crying children she just snapped at aren’t really her best suit.
Luckily, Mirabel straightens up quickly enough. “Camilo.” She whispers. “Milo, Milo, please listen. Isabela is right.” Her face is still stained with tears, but her expression is determined.
Camilo’s head shoots up in surprise. “She’s… right? What do you mean?”
“We don’t know when Papa is coming back.” She says quietly. “But remember what Abuela said. We have to be useful, make our family proud. Papa or not, we need to do this.”
“But Mira, I don’t want to.” He says sadly. “I don’t- don’t want to do it without Papa, I- I-”
The door slams open. Isabela jumps, coming face-to-face with Abuela. A smile slips onto her face. “Abuela!” She says happily. “I was just convincing Camilo and Mirabel to do their gift ceremony. They’re ready!”
Abuela turns to the children, surprise on her face. “You’ve decided to do it?”
Mirabel nods. Camilo stays silent. Relief washes over Abuela’s face. She turns to Isabela, pulling her in for a hug and planting a kiss on her forehead. “Ah, Isabela, I knew I could count on you. My beautiful girl, so perfect. Thank you.”
She preens beneath Abuela’s praise. Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see Mirabel and Camilo, saddened eyes staring up at hers.
She looks away.
They aren’t her problem anymore.
・・・
Camilo Madrigal opens his door, and receives his gift. Shapeshifting. It’s the perfect gift, they say. Fits him like a glove. Alma looks proud. But Bruno knows better. He watches the ceremony through a crack in the wall, watches as his son looks around his room, a dejected expression on his face. His heart seizes up.
He’s so, so sorry. So, so hurt.
Camilo deserves a better father. Agustin, or maybe Felix. But not Bruno. He’s a failure. He couldn’t even keep his children happy. His gift is a curse.
He’s a curse.
・・・
Mirabel Madrigal does not receive a gift. Her door disappears. The town talks about it for days. People are worried, scared. Alma is upset. She doesn’t try to hide it. Julieta tries to help, she really does. Whispers to Mirabel that it’s okay, that it isn’t her fault.
It doesn’t work.
Bruno listens, every night, as Mirabel cries herself to sleep. Camilo does not come to help. He isn’t allowed to. Alma has separated the pair as much as she can. Bruno can hear his son’s cries, too. He wishes he could be there to help. To comfort them both. But, he reminds himself, he’s doing this to help them. To protect them. And so, he watches. Watches and listens.
If his heart breaks in the process, well, nobody has to know.
・・・
They grow apart.
Really, it’s inevitable; Abuela keeps them as separated as can be. Whether in fear of the magic fading, or because in some sick, twisted way, she wants to punish Mirabel, nobody’s quite sure. But, as the years go by, the Madrigal twins stop wandering around, nearly attached to the hip. Camilo is off in the village, being Luisa, or Pepa, or whoever Abuela needs him to be. Mirabel is at home, trying her best to help but getting shunned in the process. At night, they don’t climb into each other’s bed like they used to, don’t hug each other tightly when they’re sad, and don't sneak down to the kitchen for some leftover food. From a very, very young age, the pair would begin to understand how one could be alone when surrounded by family.
Bruno had been lost to them, and now, they would be lost to each other.
・・・
Dolores hears everything.
When she says everything, she means everything. Not just conversations, but everything - from footsteps to Luisa’s eye twitching at night. This typically means she knows everything about everyone.
Including the whereabouts of her family.
She knows Tio Bruno is in the walls. Honestly, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. He’s loud, sneaks into real rooms to steal Arepas, and spends a full hour watching his children sleep each night. At merely thirteen years of age, Dolores feels like she has the entire weight of the world on her shoulders.
Should she tell Abuela about Tio Bruno? Should she keep quiet?
If she were to guess, she thinks Tio Bruno would tell her to keep quiet. After all, he left in the first place. She doesn’t think he’d have left, put his children in so much pain, if he was just going to return later. She doesn’t know what he has in store. Besides, for whatever strange reason, Dolores trusts Tio Bruno. He’s always seemed wise to her.
She’ll leave the decision up to him. And so, over time, she learns to keep her mouth shut.
Unfortunately, Tio Bruno’s scampering isn’t all she can hear. For the first few months after their gift ceremony, she lies awake every night, listening to the soft padding of children’s footsteps. Mirabel and Camilo meet in the courtyard every night, running their fingers through each other’s hair and pulling each other close. This, she would never tell a soul. Her baby cousins deserve to be happy. After all they’ve suffered, she thinks it’s cruel of Abuela to keep them separated.
But it’s not up to her. It’s not up to anybody. And so, during the daytime, she stands by and listens with a heavy heart as Abuela locks the nursery door on a screaming, sobbing Mirabel, dragging a miserable-looking Camilo into the village. At night, over time, it becomes worse. Once Abuela discovers these midnight rendezvous, Mirabel’s door begins to lock, followed by her windows. Dolores’ nights are accompanied not by laughter, but by tears. It breaks her heart, but there’s nothing she can do about it.
Over time, the tears lessen. Dolores is sixteen years old, and at night, all is silent in the Casa Madrigal. Camilo does not reach for Mirabel anymore. Mirabel does not try to sit next to him at meals. To the other, they might not even exist, at this point. Abuela nods approvingly.
Dolores does not like it. It is too silent. She wishes Tio Bruno were here.
He would know what to do.
・・・
Bruno helps, as much as he can.
When Mirabel, six years old, loses the expensive necklace she was delivering to Isabela, he spends hours peering through cracks, looking for it. When she finally drops to her knees, burying her face into her hands, it conveniently tumbles onto the cobblestone beside her. Isabela gasps when she sees it, smiling. Mirabel turns to Alma, a hopeful expression on her face.
Alma says nothing.
When Camilo, eight years old, is asked to be both Luisa and a replacement nanny at the same time, a stranger dressed in a green hooded ruana conveniently offers to lighten his load. Camilo swears he’s seen the ruana before. The stranger convinces him otherwise. He and Luisa finish unloading tables, turning to each other and high-fiving. The stranger watches from a distance, quiet and subdued.
Alma narrows her eyes. She gets the feeling she’s seen the ruana before as well.
When Mirabel, seven and a half, wakes up distressed from a nightmare, her door unlocks - seemingly all on its own. A rat leaves a trail of food going from Camilo’s door down to the nursery. The two bump into each other, literally. Expressions of surprise, followed by barely hidden joy. Camilo brings her up to the roof, where they talk into the wee hours of the morning. Mirabel climbs back into her bed with a smile on her face. Camilo’s step has a bounce in it it had never had before. In the morning, they try to sit next to each other at breakfast.
Alma quickly switches the seats, disapproval evident on her face.
It’s alright. It’s okay. Bruno will do whatever he can to help his children, even if he can only do so from the shadows. Even if his children don’t remember him, he’ll do his best to make them remember each other.
They deserve that much, at least.
・・・
Mirabel is nine when she first asks Julieta about Bruno.
“Tia Julieta,” She says, eyes wide behind her glasses, “Can you tell me about Papa?”
Julieta freezes. The arepa falls from her hands, tumbling onto the floor. Mirabel did not mean anything by the question, she tells herself. Honestly, she’s surprised it didn’t come sooner - from her or from Camilo. After all, Bruno was their father. She supposes, it’s about time she told her.
“Ay, prima, don’t ask stupid questions like that!” Isabela scoffs from the doorway. “We don’t talk about Bruno, remember? It’s the golden rule of the Casa Madrigal.” Then she’s gone, hair swishing elegantly behind her. Julieta sighs. She’ll have to have a talk with her daughter about inconsiderate comments.
“Don’t mind Isabela, Mirabel.” Julieta says softly, bending down. “I’ll tell you about Bruno, if that’s really what you want. What would you like to hear?”
“Tia Julieta, do you know why he left?”
She grimaces instantly. Mirabel must notice, because her expression dims and her feet begin to turn away, the way they always do when Abuela asks her to step aside or Isabela tells her she’s being a nuisance. Julieta refuses to be the reason her niece is upset. She owes this much to Bruno, to be a good mother figure to his daughter.
“I don’t know exactly, mija, but I can tell you other things.” Mirabel pauses. Turns around slowly. There’s curiosity and wonder in her eyes. Julieta doesn’t want to squash that.
“I can tell you…” She leans forwards, tapping her nose lightly, smiling at the giggle Mirabel lets out, “That your Papa loved you very, very much. You and Camilo, you were the lights of his life. I’m sure that wherever he is, he didn’t want to leave you.”
Mirabel frowns. “Are you sure, Tia Julietta? Why would he leave, if that’s true?”
She sighs. “Bruno has always been… different. I’m sure he had his reasons.” She places her hands on Mirabel’s shoulders. “But you, Mirabel Madrigal, are loved. You have always been loved. Just because you don’t have a father or a mother doesn’t make you any less loved. Do I make myself clear?”
There’s a smile on her niece’s face. “Yes, Tia Julietta. I understand.”
・・・
Camilo is seven when he asks, for the first and only time, about Bruno.
He asks Pepa, of all people. A cloud erupts above her head instantly, showering the boy in raindrops. Clear skies, clear skies, clear skies… she’s frazzled. She doesn’t like talking about Bruno. She really, really doesn’t like it.
But then, she remembers herself, seven years old - so many years ago. Begging Alma for any stories of Pedro she could give. And her heart softens, because Camilo is looking at her with such an adorable expression and really, it’s the least she could do, isn’t it? When the twins had been born, she’d promised to be a mother figure to them both. Now, Bruno is gone as well, and they’ve been left all alone. She should keep a promise. She’s a good sister, and she’ll be an even better aunt.
“Well, there’s… quite a lot to be said about Bruno.” She says quickly, pacing back and forth. “But! Do not tell anybody about this conversation, understood? We don’t talk about Bruno.”
Camilo nods. “Right, right… we don’t talk about Bruno. Now, tell me about him.” There’s a hint of a smile on his face. Pepa just about melts.
“Well, I remember him being quite tall… a lot taller than me, that is.” She mutters, more to herself than to her nephew. “He looked a good deal like you, mijo, only with longer, messier hair - oh! His eyes glowed a bright green… was that just when he was in his prophecies, or all the time? Maybe it was all the time. Ah, I can’t quite remember.” She’s upset by the thought. Pepa has always had a scattered mind (or so Alma always told her), but she never thought she’d have forgotten her brother’s eye color. A small thundercloud forms above her head again. She bats it away angrily.
“It’s because of him that I got married in a hurricane,” She continued, pushing the thoughts from her mind. Clear skies, clear skies, clear skies. “It’s because of him that all the town’s misfortune happened. And… there were always rats crawling up and down his back, and his voice was quiet, I think.” She tries to remember more. She wants to remember more.
“He was bad?” A small voice says. Pepa’s eyes widen. She’d nearly forgotten why she was speaking of her forbidden brother. Camilo’s bottom lip is quivering, and he looks like he might burst into tears at any moment. “My Papa ruined your wedding? He- he’s scary?”
“Ay, no, mijo, that’s not true-” She tries to backpedal. Oh, this has gone so, so badly. Why did he have to ask her? Julieta would know what to say. Now, she’s gone and ruined her nephew’s image of Bruno, and it’ll never recover! The temperature drops suddenly, and snowflakes begin to fall on her head. Clear skies, clear skies!
It’s too late. The door swings loosely in the wind of her storm, and Camilo is nowhere to be seen. Pepa’s heart hurts. She feels awful. If only Bruno had never left, then this would have never happened. She misses her brother. She wants him back.
The rain is worsening. She can hear Alma calling her name.
Clear skies, clear skies, clear skies…
・・・
Camilo does not hate his father.
No matter how much distaste others have for him, he does not hate him. No matter how many times he wakes up from a nightmare, the ghoulish image of a green-eyed man haunting him, he does not hate him. No matter how many times he makes eye contact with Mirabel at breakfast, only to look away quickly, he does not hate him. No matter how sick he feels every time Abuela pulls him close and calls him special, he does not hate him.
He is scared of him, though.
Bruno is a taboo subject, even in the village. His name is muttered in hushed whispers, followed by furtive glances and the words every villager knows by heart.
We don’t talk about Bruno.
After his conversation with Tia Pepa, Camilo starts to understand why.
He has never tried to imitate his father. Once he left, Abuela took down every picture with him and nailed slats over his door. Camilo’s memory is not good enough for him to remember - well, for him to remember anything about him, really. All he has in his mind is a hazy picture of a man with curly hair and a green ruana. When he thinks really hard, he remembers the feeling of a hand in his, of lips touching his forehead, of soft whispers late at night. The memories make him smile.
The picture he’s building in his mind? Not so much.
Tia Pepa is tall, or at least tall in Camilo’s seven-year-old mind. Bruno must be really, really tall, then… he stands in front of one of the many mirrors decorating his bedroom walls, and transforms into his unfinished image of Bruno. Maybe just a little bit taller. Seven feet, perhaps? The man in the mirror gives a little wave.
Bright green eyes, Tia Pepa had said. Slowly, the eyes begin to change color, glowing brighter and brighter and brighter until they hurt to look at. The man in the mirror smiles widely. Camilo can’t hold back a shiver. Now, for the final touch. Wild, wild hair, and perhaps a rat or two sticking out of it. They crawl up and down his body like leeches. The man in the mirror lunges forwards with a cackle. Camilo can’t help it. He turns around, quickly transforming back into himself, and runs out of the room.
He won't sleep for the next month. These nightmares will follow him for the next eight years of his life.
Still, he doesn’t hate his father. He doesn’t think he ever could.
・・・
Mirabel doesn’t understand her father.
Tia Julieta’s words confuse her. Her aunt claims that he loved her, that he loved both her and Camilo. That they were the lights of his life.
Well, if that were true, then why would he leave?
She’s lonely. There hasn’t been a child born since her and Camilo, so the nursery stays empty. She used to sneak out at night, meet Camilo in the kitchen and eat all the leftover food, or just sit in his room and talk for hours on end. Now, her door stays firmly locked, and Camilo stays on the other side of the dinner table. She loves her brother so, so much. Why can’t Abuela see that? Why can’t she stay with him?
Mirabel knows she’s not the most useful. She doesn’t have a gift - how on earth could she help? She tries to pretend it’s not true, tries to help as much as she can. But she can’t lift five donkeys at once, can’t grow flowers with a snap of her fingers, can’t turn into somebody else at a whim. All she wants is for Abuela to praise her like she does Isabela.
If only she still spoke to Camilo. She’s sure he could help her.
Running into him is always awkward. Abuela is so insistent on the two staying separate, claiming Mirabel is a “distraction” and Camilo has more important things to do. She supposes it’s a valid point - he’s always running from one end of town to the other, turning into Isabela or Pepa or Julieta or whoever Abuela needs him to be. Still, she hopes she isn’t imagining the hopeful light in his eyes whenever they bump into each other, far, far away from the prying eyes of Abuela. She remembers that day a year and a half ago when her bedroom door had mysteriously unlocked. Camilo had been wandering the halls that night, too. She had so much fun that night. She hopes he did, too.
Sometimes, Mirabel wonders what life would be like if her father had never left. She and Camilo would probably be just as close. Maybe, she would have gotten a gift.
She wonders if Bruno ever loved her. She gets the feeling he didn’t.